


Reflections

by JustAnotherUnderstudy



Series: Grief is the Price We Pay for Love [4]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt No Comfort, Inspired by Fanfiction, Inspired by Music, Sad, Song fic, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2020-01-14 14:58:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18478597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustAnotherUnderstudy/pseuds/JustAnotherUnderstudy
Summary: Olivia has always been able to see James' true self, beyond what he pretends to be, beyond what he allows anyone to see.





	Reflections

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Тьма](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17541725) by [littleshiver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleshiver/pseuds/littleshiver), [WTF_Espionage_2019](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WTF_Espionage_2019/pseuds/WTF_Espionage_2019). 



> Song fic, based on "Dying in a Hot Tub" by Palaye Royale.

_"You're looking skinny sleepy-head"_

She was right, he knew. He hadn't been taking care of himself lately. Drinking too much, eating too little. The pack a day of cigarettes didn't encourage his appetite either.

_"Well, have you gotten out of bed?"_

James chuckled at the sound of her voice. The sharp bite in her admonishment forced him to sit up and throw the covers back.

"I'm up," he said. "I'm up."

_"Getting concerned about you."_

"I'll be alright," he mumbled as he stepped up to the sink in the bathroom.

She scoffed.

_"Have you seen yourself today?"_

He looked into the mirror and cringed. His hair was over the top of his ears, and his face was covered with a week's worth of growth.

_"You're gonna need a haircut and a shave."_

"I know," he said. "I'll get to it later."

The long, deep intake of breath told James he was trying her patience.

He wandered into the kitchen and started the tea. Always one for the tea, Olivia. Had to have it first thing in the morning, swore she couldn't eat before it.

He set the table for the two of them, and sat down.

_"I can see behind your eyes."_

He closed them so she couldn't. 

"I'm fine," he insisted.

_"Your mind is getting wasted."_

He looked over at the stove and willed the pot to boil to give him an excuse to move about and avoid the conversation he didn't want to have.

_"But you're always getting wasted all the time."_

"I've got it under control," he assured her, his voice calm.

She was just worried. She was just showing him she cared. It wasn't her fault he had chosen this path. It was his own to take the blame for.

_"Getting concerned about your lonely days."_

"I get out," he said.

He heard her click her tongue in disbelief.

"And not just to buy booze," he added at that.

_You're drinking more, getting caught up in the booze._

The pot began to whistle and James got up to pull it off the stove.

He sat back down and busied himself making the tea. A dab of cream, but no sugar, for her. He only took his black these days.

James lifted the cup to his mouth and looked across the table. He set the cup down before taking a sip. The crash back down to reality was always a bit overwhelming. 

He wasn't sure how long he sat there, staring at the cups of tea as the steam curled above them, then slowly began to disappear until they were just two cups of liquid collecting the dust.

Finally, he rose and dumped the teas into the sink. He washed out the cups and lay them out to dry on the mat.

Pretending she was still here wasn't helping. Of course, the drinking wasn't helping either, but that wasn't going to stop him from going out and restocking his now empty liquor cabinet. 

He stopped to see her on the way home. He could feel her disapproving gaze on him as he stood before her with a paper bag in his hands to conceal the whiskey.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled.

Then he rested the flowers next to the stone that bore her name.

One day, he'd be better. He told himself that each time he came to see her. One day, he'd be over this. When the pain didn't threaten to consume him when he was sober, he'd be the man she saw inside him and tried to make him.

Until then, he'd "fly to the moon again."

  
Yeah, I'm here and you're gone  
I'll see you on the other side  
And I'm here and you're gone, gone, gone

 


End file.
